


Progressive Playdate

by coplins



Series: Packrunners [30]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dinner Party, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, One Night Stands, Overcoming prejudice, Progressives, kink negotiation... kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: Dean's been thinking about what Dick and Charlie told him about Progressives yesterday. Always one to be eager to try out new knowledge he decides to have a one night stand with a Prog. He considers possible candidates and it lands on his cold, hardass boss; Bartholomew.





	Progressive Playdate

**Author's Note:**

> So... I meant this to be a 'porn without plot' and it ended up being a 'porn what porn?' instead. Oops? Since this occurs before the date I'm posting it now, and I'm posting the first chapter of the date as soon as I've finished posting this one. This has no relevance to the general plot and is more of a character study or Dean, I guess? Oh, and yes. The date is a multi-chapter installment. Too much happens for it to be a single chapter. I'd apologise for that except I'm not really sorry. ;) Oh, and, I've been writing this alongside of the date so the second chapter of the date is well underway. :)

* * *

Dean leans back in his office chair. “Yo, Bartholomew, Sir. You spend all day ridin’ my ass. How 'bout doing it tonight too?” It's probably a bad idea but Dean can't get it out of his head. He's been thinking about being with a Prog since he had that talk with Charlie in her kitchen. He's been with Progs before a couple of times after he came out of his depression. It hadn't been very good but that might very well be due to miscommunication and different expectations. Why not try it out while keeping in mind the things Charlie and Dick told him? 

Bartholomew doesn't even look up from his paperwork. He rifles through his file then gets up and walks over to the file cabinet. “I'm invited to a dinner party tonight," he dismisses.

Why go for Bartholomew? The guy smells pretty good, is prosperous and high ranking by any designation’s standard. Plus, he knows how all the designations work, using that knowledge with great success in his job. If Dean screws up Bartholomew won't freak out. It's setting the bar high. Bartholomew has shown zip zero nada interest in him. But if Dean's gonna allow himself to be insulted it's gonna have to be by someone high ranking. “So? Bring me as your date.”

_That_ stops Bartholomew right in his track to look at Dean who wiggles his eyebrows at him suggestively. He raises an eyebrow at Dean. “I presume you are aware of the Williams brothers’ intentions towards you?”

"Yup."

“Do you have a problem with my way of tutoring you? If that's the case I'd rather we sit down and talk through our differences.”

"What? No. What gave you that idea? _Oh._ Yeah, no. I just wanna fuck a Prog.” That's what Charlie said. Be straightforward.

Bartholomew looks around to see if anyone heard, then turns to Dean. “Can you afford to buy yourself a coffee at Dave's?"

Dean scoffs. “Of course."

“Good. Meet me there ten minutes after you get off work and we'll talk about it.” With that, he leaves the room.

Dean's almost having second thoughts when he enters Dave's 25 minutes later. Bartholomew is waiting just inside and gestures for Dean to order before him and Dean notes that he orders the same thing as Dean. That's unusual. Bartholomew has sent him on a couple of coffee runs here (usually when his head is swimming with new information, giving him a chance to process what he's learning) and he always orders the over the top, most expensive coffee drinks. Dean's reminded that Dick and Charlie said that equality is very important to Progs wanting to show respect so this might very well be Bartholomew's way of doing that.

They sit down and Bartholomew adds too much sugar to his coffee in an effort to make it drinkable. “So. Let's get this straight,” he says after taking a sip and grimacing. “I have no wish to compete with the Williams family. I like my job. If this is a plan of yours to stab me in the back―”

"Dude," Dean interrupts him, “if I wanted to stab you in the back I'd use a knife. Chill. I'm gonna be straight with you, my experiences with Progs ain't all good, alright? But last night I found out one of my best friends is a Prog. We talked and apparently we both have a shitload of prejudices. I figured, maybe my previous hookups with Progs have sucked because of it?” Dean pauses to sip his coffee before he goes on. “So I want to give it another shot and try to keep my mind open, right? And I got to thinking about what Prog Alphas I know. It landed on you cuz you're handsome, you look good too, and you're in my league so I don't have to lower my standard, plus you understand Primals so you won't shit yourself if I fuck up and flare when we have sex.”

Bartholomew smirks with a warm sparkle in his normally so cold eyes. “I find flaring rather sexy. Teething and fangs I have a problem with. It doesn’t scare me, it’s just off-putting.” He purses his lips and stirs his coffee with a spoon. “I presume kissing is out of the question?”

“Nah. I actually kinda like it.”

Bartholomew raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh? That’s unusual. Your kind tends to act like it’s an act of ultimate intimacy, not something you do with just anyone.”

Dean grins, holding his cup with both hands in front of his mouth so he can sip continuously. “I blame Michael Williams. He gave me a taste for it. Hey, so, Y’all have a tendency to knot outside for some reason. I like getting filled up.”

“How about, if we do this, I end by knotting you when we’ve gone a couple of rounds and I’m starting to get worn out?”

“Fine by me. As long as I get the K I’m a happy Omega. What’s with that anyway?”

“Knotting outside?”

“Yeah.”

“Aside from the obvious, allowing for quickies? It extends playtime and doesn’t limit positions as much. Do you require me to stimulate your glands?”

“I don’t if that ain’t your thing. But the neck gland is insanely sensitive so if you don’t like the taste of secretion you can always use your hands and still get to see me go cross-eyed from it.”

Bartholomew raises his eyebrows in positive surprise. “I didn’t know that. Do you have an aversion to dirty talk?”

“Nope. As long as it ain’t degrading. I’m a fucking Main and I ain’t taking no shit.” Dean remembers Charlie’s confusion about his sounds. “You got any problem with purring and other primal sounds?”

“Purring and that keening your kind does doesn’t bother me. But I’d appreciate if you try to avoid growling. I realise that it might be hard to control during sex―”

“It’s not. I can hold back all of that unless you go for the neck gland. Then I will keen whether I want to or not.”

“Alright. And I expect you to use words if I do something you don’t like and vice versa. Neither of us are mind readers. A bite or growl might work for your usual lovers but I find it an unacceptable form of communication in intimate situations. Likewise, if you’re looking for impact play of any kind I’m not the lover for you. I don’t get off on pain nor on causing it. That’s not designation related, rather my personal preferences. If that’s your thing I can introduce you to someone else who’s open to it and doesn’t discriminate against Primals for playmates.”

“How ‘bout hair pulling and manhandling?”

“As long as the intention isn’t to hurt I’m into it.”

“Okay, uhm, I know I came onto you an’ all… but I need some kind of foreplay and some flirting. I need to be riled up. Y’all don’t deep-purr and I usually say ‘no food, no flare, no fuck’, but, uhm…”

Bartholomew chuckles, pushes the coffee out of the way and leans forward on the table. “Dean. I’m no robot. I need that too. If we do this, I’m not going to make assumptions. Normally I wouldn’t have a discussion like this before my potential lover and I are already on the way of getting it on and I’d only ask rudimentary questions like their hard no’s or tell them my dealbreakers to avoid mishaps. But I too have had a couple of rather unpleasant hookups with Primals. I’ve learned from my mistakes. But if you need me to deep-purr I’ll do that. I’m not that rigid.”

Dean huffs. “Nah. The idea was to try to understand Progs, not to readjust you to fit my ideals,” he says with a little smile, feeling a bit shy all the sudden.

“Very well. I have one condition. If you can’t uphold that, we split up right here and never talk about any of this ever again.”

“And that is?”

“You don’t tell anyone.” Bartholomew looks at a table further away where three people Dean recognises from the office sit talking. “Nobody gets to know. I don’t want the Williams family getting wind of me nosing around their love interest under any circumstances. Like I said before, my job is important to me and I’d like to keep it.”

“I promise. And I’ll make sure to wash off any scent traces that might be a giveaway. But I’d like to be able to talk about it without giving up name, place, or time.” 

“That’s fine by me. Also, if I take you to this dinner party as my date you come and leave with me without hooking up with anyone else there while we’re there. That goes even if you change your mind about me.”

“That’s a given.”

“No, it’s not. But the people at the dinner party are all well off. Some of them are my friends and some are snakes I’d rather see step in front of a bus. Showing up with you will be seen as an act of bragging―”

“Why?”

“Dean, you’re pretty. Your face is a work of art. Your smile could light up New York City after dark. In our world looks and personality are what attracts us. And you’ve got the looks. It would show me off as privileged to manage to get a date as attractive as you, but it would also ridicule me if you dumped me for someone else once we’re there. I can’t promise I wouldn’t let the spite I’d feel reflect on our continued work relationship.”

“Yeah, no. Don’t worry about that. I’d never do that to a date. I guess you want me to clean up my act and watch my language too?”

“That’s up to you. Do you want them to think I brought you only for your looks like a dumb arm-decoration? Or do you want them to respect you? Speaking of. This is a great opportunity for you to practise interacting with Progs. Unlike at work, there’ll be nothing at stake except for your own reputation.”

“That’s fair.”

* * *

“So… we’re supposed to bring gifts, right? That’s what Progs do, right?” Dean asks as they park the car outside a mall.

“That’s right.”

“But what is suitable? Like, when I visit friends I’d bring food. A couple of pigeons or gulls I just caught perhaps. Or fruit. If they ain’t got money I’d go for imported fruits.”

Bartholomew’s lips curve up in amusement as he side-eyes Dean before they get out of the car. “Wrong income bracket.”

Dean thinks. “So… chocolate? Some fancy type?”

“Not a bad choice. A very good choice, I’d say, that works both for us and for Primals. But in general, once you enter the privileged circle, food and necessities are to be avoided as gifts. Unless you bring alcohol, which is what I’m going to do. A fine wine is a good gift to any Prog no matter the thickness of their wallet. Cut flowers are also popular.”

“I never understood the point of giving cut flowers.”

Bartholomew shrugs. “They’re pretty. That’s all.”

“Yeah, but they wilt so fucking fast.”

“True. But on the other hand, it's a wonderfully annoying gift to give. They'll have to smile and look grateful then try to find a vase. That can be hard if several people bring flowers.”

"So it's a spiteful gift?"

Bartholomew gives him another amused look. "It can be. But a nice bouquet adds fragrance and beauty to a home and many people keep them, buying new ones when the old ones wilt.”

"We should bring tulips. You can eat those.” Dean steps over a beggar to enter the mall.

Bartholomew laughs and drops a few coins in the beggar's cup when he passes without sparing the beggar a look. “Spoken like a true Primal. But once again, wrong income bracket. It's more about bragging with your excess at my league.”

"Sounds dumb.”

Bartholomew shrugs again. "I'm not arguing.”

In the store, Dean chooses a box of expensive chocolate and gets in line after Bartholomew who's buying a bottle of red wine. When it's Dean's turn to pay Bartholomew hands his own card to the cashier. Dean raises his eyebrows in question. “We come as a pair and you are my guest, Dean. It's unreasonable to demand that you waste your own money on this.”

"But I thought Progs―"

“I appreciate the effort. But no. We split costs to put us on equal standing. I already know I earn a lot more money than you and you informed me earlier that you're a Main which means that even if you did earn as much as I do, you'd have less to spare. I'm well aware that Mains and Patriarchs have less to spend on themselves since they provide for their pack. Letting you pay would be taking advantage of you and negate the equality sought to achieve by splitting costs.” He sees Dean's expression and adds, "I'd do the same for a low income Prog with a family to provide for."

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, I guess.” Dean’s still a bit sceptical. He’ll have to take Bartholomew’s word for it.

* * *

On the way there Bartholomew warns him that several people there are noseblind and won't know he's an Omega. Most likely they'll assume he's an Alpha since he’s a man. He also explains that it doesn't matter to Progs until it's time to have kits in which case they'll split up or, more likely, adopt. Dean asks if it's true that Progs host mainly potlucks. Once again Bartholomew answers 'wrong income bracket’. Instead, people of his standing take turn hosting the parties.

Bartholomew lives in one of those gated communities meant solely for Progs. It's a luxury complex that hosts its own restaurants, convenience store, pharmacy, and gift shop.

When they get to the apartment it almost goes to hell straight away when the hostess greets them since she hostess grabs him by the upper arms and leans in and fucking _kisses his cheeks_. He has to struggle to withhold the instinctive reaction to teeth and growl at the invasive move. Instead, he manages a stiff smile and an awkward laugh. “Woah. Personal space isn't a thing for you guys, huh?"

“Oh, I'm sorry! Did I make you uncomfortable? That wasn't my intent. You're from out of town?” She smiles apologetically and shakes his hand instead with a hint of distress in her scent.

“Kansas, ma'am." 

"Please, call me Louise.” She looks around to the other guests mingling with drinks in the big room. “Everyone, this is Barry's friend Dean. He needs a bit more personal space than we're used to,” she declares loudly before she turns back to Dean with a warm smile. “There. That should spare you any more discomforts. Hope you'll feel welcome. Oh, oh. Since Barry didn’t inform me until an hour ago that he’d bring a date, I need to ask; Are you allergic to anything?”

“Only bullshit,” Dean jokes.

Louise chuckles. “I hope you brought your antihistamines then,” she deadpans.

“Eric’s here?” Bartholomew asks.

Louise gives him a look and a gesture that confirms it but also shows that she isn’t all that happy about it.

After she flits off to see to the food Dean leans close to Bartholomew and whispers “Did I fuck up?"

“Not at all," Bartholomew assures him. “It's not a Prog custom to kiss on the cheeks, rather a local one.” He guides Dean to the drink table before taking him around the room to make introductions. He introduces Dean as a colleague, making it seem like they're equal at work too. There are no more mishaps. Everyone shakes Dean's hand even if they greet 'Barry’ with kisses on the cheeks.

At one point during the actual dinner Dean's riled up again. For some reason the conversation drifts onto Primals. The scents of the other guests show that the trash talk makes several people uncomfortable or annoyed. Bartholomew is one of the annoyed ones. The man sitting across from them is a real piece of work. The animosity between him and Bartholomew has been apparent from the first introduction. A woman is currently saying that she doesn't think Primals are that bad and that she has several good friends that are Primals when the guy for the millionth time interrupts. “Nonsense. All Primals are dirty savages. Nothing better than lowly mongrels. They're so unsophisticated that they only understand violence, attacking decent people for no reason,” he says with scornful loftiness.

Dean really, _really_ would like to tear into him with his claws. Instead, he leans back to put an arm on Bartholomew's chair's backrest. “Did it ever occur to you that you're so self-absorbed and self-entitled that Primals realize that violence is the only language _you_ understand?” he asks with a smirk.

Bartholomew laughs. He's not the only one. There are sniggers politely hidden behind hands as well as some outright guffaws. The guy next to the douchewad claps him on the shoulder. “He got you there, Eric. Dean’s only known you for roughly an hour and he already has you figured out.”

The scent of discomfort and annoyance in the room has dissipated except coming from Eric who now smells angry despite the close-lipped smile he gives Dean. “Your mother’s so ugly that when she looked out the window she got arrested for mooning.”

_Wut?_

A hush falls over the crowd and a tenseness in the air. Everyone looks at Dean waiting for his reaction. It’s not like Dean doesn’t get that he’s being insulted. But it’s such a weird insult. There’s no way Eric has ever met Mary Winchester. There aren’t any facts to the statement. Mary was beautiful and has never been arrested. Why would Dean take offense at that? “Oh? You knew her, then? I personally found her beautiful but I only remember her vaguely and from photos. But each to their own, right? She died when I was four. Where were you stationed? She fought mostly in Kansas but I think she did a stint up in the Canadian mountains for a bit too. Infantry. Guerrilla. And you fought…?”

Bartholomew smells pleased and lays a hand on Dean’s thigh with a smug smile at Eric. There’s a prolonged silence, then Eric bows his head and starts a slow clap. The tension in the room is released and Dean has no idea what he did right or why he was supposed to be insulted. He leans in toward Bartholomew when conversation starts up again. “What was that about?” he whispers.

“Insulting someone’s mother is serious business. You did a very good job of diffusing the situation while giving him a smackdown.”

“He’s an ass. How did he get invited?”

“His sister is mated to Louise's brother.”

“Poor family.”

Bartholomew chuckles. “I’m not arguing.”

By the time dessert rolls around Bartholomew as well as the lady (Maggie?) sitting beside of Dean suddenly start smelling turned on. Dean’s trying to lick honey from his fingers after the sticky pastry they’d been served. The whole table had been laid with several rows of fancy utensils, spoons and forks and knives looking weird. Dean had waited to dig in until he saw what utensils the other people used and soon realised that while the setup was fancy, the attitude was relaxed and some just used the most normal looking ones without getting any scorn by the other guests. That’s why he’d chosen to eat the pastry with his hands. It was the only way he could get a bit of everything (it had been topped by cream and berries) in his mouth at the same time. Now he pops his finger out of the mouth to look at Bartholomew questioningly. “What?”

Bartholomew’s gaze jumps from where it’s been latched on Dean’s mouth to his eyes. He bites his lip before he answers. “Say… how do you feel about food sex?” he asks in a low voice.

“Food sex? What? Like fucking a carrot or something?” Dean asks and shrugs. “Seems like a waste. But hey, I ain’t judging anyone if that’s their thing.”

Bartholomew huffs in amusement. “Not that I’d mind eating a carrot dipped in your slick but that wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

“So what did you have in mind?”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we get there,” Bartholomew answers with a lopsided smirk and a spark of excitement in his intense, blue eyes. Bartholomew's eyes are always so intense you might think he’s always low-key flaring. If Dean hadn’t seen him flare that’s what he’d have thought. But Bartholomew has a rich, golden flare with high luminosity. He drags a finger through the whipped cream on his plate and holds it up to Dean’s lips. Dean doesn’t waste a second before sucking the digit into his mouth. Beside him Maggie huffs a quiet ‘Oh my,’ and a glance towards her shows that she’s blushing with a flustered smile, watching Dean suck on Bartholomew’s finger. _Huh._

At work Bartholomew is an arrogant hardass that always pushes his team to overachieve. He doesn’t speak more than necessarily and he never changes to suck up when in negotiations. Sometimes Dean wants to sucker punch him, but the truth is, the guy’s good at knowing when to push, when to push harder, and when to give slack. You get a ‘Well done’ from him you feel like you’ve won a trophy. You feel like you can’t keep up and suddenly you’re sent on a coffee run or fetching something from another department. Just enough of a break for you to get a gulp of air before diving in again. He gives you repetitive tasks―reading through a file and writing a short summary of it―until your speed increases, you learn what details are important to include, spot patterns and so on. If you, like Dean, _don’t_ need constant encouragement and praise he’s a kickass teacher. He’ll break the weak or insecure and lift the determined. Dean’s been present at one negotiation (taking notes silently in the background) and there it became obvious why it’s necessary. Sure, charm could work too. But Bartholomew had a style of approach that told the target that Bartholomew (and the Williams Corp) are superior, the deal was already done and all that was left to do was negotiate the terms. Dean had expected Bartholomew to be the type to like his own voice too much in private, but he isn’t. He listens when others talk, respect their opinions for the most part when they diverge from his own but doesn’t hesitate to say his bit even if it’s already been made clear that his is an unpopular opinion, and makes those he talk to feel good about himself. Just like at work he doesn’t talk much.

Dean thinks a Conservative Omega wouldn’t be able to date Bartholomew because any time Dean comes under fire in a discussion he keeps quiet and leaves space for Dean to defend himself instead of stepping in to defend him. Verbal sparring, insults and jokes are a common occurrence at this party. Most, when they get a slap-down, take it with grace. Honestly? To Dean, it seems like a version of Primals posturing and growling at each other and folding peacefully. So, yeah. Maybe Dick is right? Maybe they aren’t _that_ different. They’re definitely more to the point than Conservatives.

There are 26 people at the party and at least 4 of them are noseblind. Those are staggering numbers to Dean. Back home where he came from there had been one in the whole town. Progs back home had also actively ignored their Primal senses. Not so here. He sees several people scent the air when there are mood changes in the room and change their behaviour or words to fit. There are a couple of mated couples, and two couples who claim to be mated but wear matching rings without having a scent bond to show they’re mated. It reminds Dean of Sasha describing Progs with ‘the mind telling the heart what it wants’.

After dinner they’re moved into another room to mingle and drink alcohol. Dean discusses everything from cooking, cars, plant care, to politics and war. Bartholomew flits back and forth between Dean and other people. He’s definitely started flirting and touches Dean anytime he comes back to stand with him. A hand in the small of his back, an arm over his shoulder, a whisper in his ears with lips brushing against the shell. Small things, but they’re working, building up Dean’s anticipation slowly. Dean isn’t quite that discreet once he’s starting to get riled up, especially once he’s starting to get a bit tipsy. He’ll slide an arm around Bartholomew’s midriff or lace their fingers together when they stand beside each other talking to someone. It might be a bit proprietary but Bartholomew smells very pleased when he does it so it’s all good.

There is a small bar built by the wall in the room (Who the hell needs a bar in their own home?) (...Dean wants one.) and Dean goes over to refill his drink. Eric comes to stand next to him. The guy is pretty easy on the eyes and doesn’t smell half bad, and still, Dean wants to hiss and drop fangs just to make him keep the fuck away. He doesn’t, but it’s a near thing.

“So. Are you a top or a bottom?” Eric asks with a sleazy smile.

It’s such a weird question. But then again, the dude might be noseblind and mistake him for an Alpha. “Yes,” Dean answers curtly while pouring himself a whiskey.

Eric frowns. “It’s not a yes or no question,” he points out.

Dean turns to face him. “Yeah, it is. It’s also no concern of yours. In fact, the only one in here whose business it is, is Barry.”

Eric smiles again and Dean wants to carve that slimy smirk off his face. “It could be my business too,” he says. The people closest to them have gone into eavesdropping mode and Bartholomew is making his way towards Dean.

“Yeah, no. It really couldn’t. You aren’t playing up in my league.”

Eric frowns again. He’s definitely noseblind. The sharp smell of Dean’s mounting anger stings his own nose but Eric seems completely oblivious to it. “I own the MoreTech chain. I’m a rich man. I earn a lot more than Barry does. Of course I play in your league,” he says and smiles again. “We could have some fun you and I,” he says and reaches out to touch Dean’s cheek just as Bartholomew comes to stand by the bar on Dean’s other side.

Dean jerks his face away and grabs Eric by the wrist. “If you touch me without my sayso I will take a page out of the Primals’ playbook and break your fucking fingers. I don’t care how rich you are or how big of a company you own, you’re still not playing up in my league. Tonight I’ve heard you dismiss Maggie’s plant growing hobby as stupid even though she’s managing to get species native to much hotter parts to thrive here. I’ve seen you mock Steven for buying that old car that he’s restoring, laughing at him for taking so long to repair it, when what he’s done is buy a rare classic and hunt down original parts. That is _awesome_ , not worth of mockery. You made fun of Carina’s crocheting hobby when the things she create are artistic and beautiful. That’s just scratching the surface. At this point, you want someone playing your league you’ll have to look amongst young, sheltered and insecure newly presented men and women. Possibly with an address near the Pyre. Because as long as you need to stomp other people down to make yourself look big, you’re _not_. You’re a small, insignificant man and neither your good looks or thick wallet can hide that fact. So don’t come knocking on my door until you’ve learned some humility and basic human decency.” Dean lets go of Eric’s wrist and slides an arm around Bartholomew.

Eric stares at him in silent outrage for a beat, lips compressed to a thin line. Then he pushes himself away from the bar. “I don’t need to take this kind of behaviour. You’re out of line. I’m leaving,” he declares loudly and walks off towards the foyer with his nose in the air. The room is silent as he leaves it and nobody says anything until the apartment door slams.

There’s a clock ticking on the wall, echoing loudly in the silence that follows.

“He’s off to the Pyre to seek love, I presume,” somebody jokes and the room explodes with laughter.

Bartholomew is laughing too so Dean pulls him close so he can whisper without anyone overhearing. “Did I just out myself as a Primal? And will I have to watch out for a knife in the back when I leave?”

Bartholomew answers, still chuckling. “No on both accounts. And Eric is a coward. If you ever meet him again he’ll smile to your face and pretend nothing happened.”

Bartholomew gets a lot more handsy after that but he doesn’t make an actual move until the elevator ride down after they’ve left. He pulls Dean close, drags his lips up along the neck in a light graze causing goosebumps in his wake, along the jawline to the lips and kisses Dean. The walk to the next high rise takes forever since they keep stopping to make out. In the elevator up to Bartholomew’s apartment, they’re both grinding against each other, breathing roughly. It’s not until they stumble into his apartment that Dean gets distracted. “Woah. Do you earn more money than Dick Roman?”

Bartholomew utters a surprised laugh. “Not even close. What gave you that idea?”

“Because your apartment is double the size of his, easily.”

“Different priorities then, I guess. Feel free to look around. I need to fix something in the kitchen.”

Dean looks around curiously. You could easily house a pack of twenty in here if they don’t require too much personal space. A huge open plan living room/dining area, three guestrooms, a shower/toilet, a bathroom big enough to live in and the master bedroom is as big as Benny’s apartment. It’s a bit bare for Dean’s taste, but looks like it’s decorated that way on purpose rather than due to lack of things to fill the apartment with. Bartholomew carries things from the kitchen into the bedroom―strawberries, canned whipped cream, chocolate sauce, hot tea, a bottle of flavoured vodka, Cointreau, a glass filled with ice―before taking Dean into the bedroom. They make out, undressing each other, until Dean gets the shirt off of Bartholomew. “ _Woah_. That’s some fancy needlework you’ve got there. It continues down?”

“From my left ankle to my right shoulder,” Bartholomew answers and removes his pants so Dean can see the snake-like dragon winding from his foot, up, over to his back then down again so its head is rested over his chest. “Do you like it?”

“It’s awesome. I’d never have guessed you for the type,” Dean says with a big grin. “What's that for?" he asks and nods towards the food beside the bed.

"We're finding out if you like food sex or not," Bartholomew answers with a playful smirk.

Turns out, Dean does. Drinking shots out of each other's belly buttons, blowjobs traded while alternating drinking hot tea and sucking on ice, licking whipped cream and chocolate sauce off each other and feeding each other berries. Every kiss taste differently depending on what they last had in their mouths. Dean thinks that this might be the ultimate Heat sex since you can't forget to eat while doing this.

It's just the warm-up. Once they really get going the edibles are forgotten. Bartholomew has a dirty mouth and Dean discovers that when he refrains from making Primal sounds he's got an affinity for letting his mouth run. As a bonus, all those profanities he's withheld during the evening? They turn Bartholomew on. Bartholomew prefers positions that keep them face to face so they can kiss. It’s weird to do something so intimate with someone you have no strong feelings for. It feels sort of like lying even if he likes the sensory input of doing it. Knotting outside does have its perks. The sedating hormones that come with a real knotting are never released making longer bouts of activity possible, but Bartholomew is true to his word and knots Dean good and proper when he’s wrung out.

“Hope you’re not expecting me to go easier on you at work because of this,” Bartholomew mumbles in drowsy contentment when they lie knotted together.

“Nah. I kinda like you ridin’ my ass,” Dean jokes and smiles when Bartholomew huffs in amusement. “I wouldn’t want you to go easy on me. If I get paid for doing something I want to do it well, if you get what I’m sayin’?” _Fuck sake._ It’s official. Sasha’s expression has stuck as much as Castiel’s air quotes did. The whole Winchester pack had started doing those stupid air quotes after they met Cas. Sam and Dean were impressionable Juvies but Bobby and dad didn’t have an excuse. _I guess that’s what happens when you love somebody. You end up mimicking them,_ Dean reflects.

“Mmh. I do. Don’t take this as an insult but I’m positively surprised by your behaviour tonight. None of the other guests would suspect you’re anything other than a well-off Prog. You can expect getting invited to more dinner parties in the future. As yourself, not as my plus one.”

“Hey, just because I’m a country boy from simple means doesn’t mean I don’t know how to clean my act up.”

“That’s apparent. I like how you made people feel good about themselves and showed a genuine interest in their passions. Whether you’re good at faking or actually was interested is of no consequence. Roman did well placing you in sales and acquisitions. I was convinced it was done solely due to the Williams family’s interest in you but I stand corrected. I’m especially impressed by how well you kept your temper in check when the discussion turned to Primals.”

“Yeah, well… My friend who turned out to be a Prog… we both have a significant amount of prejudices and bad experiences of each other’s designations. I want to keep her as a friend so I figured I’d try to overcome mine.”

“Admirable. Though many prejudices are well founded. There are many Progs and Primals out there that fit the opposing stereotypes. I’d advise you to not flaunt your designation amongst Progs unless you already have built a friendly relationship with them.”

Dean makes a non-committal sound. “If I’d insisted that you introduce me as a Primal, would you still have brought me?”

Bartholomew doesn’t even pause to think. “Yes. People like Eric will never be allowed to dictate who I’m friendly with.”

That’s good enough for Dean.

Bartholomew tells him this won’t change anything about their interactions at work. He’s wrong. It does. It’s subtle, but still different. Dean’s given a bit more trust and his opinions weigh a bit heavier than before. There will forever be days when Dean wants to sucker punch Bartholomew or scream in frustration when he’s driven too hard. But in the future when Bartholomew relays invitations to dinner parties Dean goes solely as a friend and cultivates a couple of genuine friendships with some of the other guests. 

He takes the advice given to heart and ‘comes out’ as a Primal over coffee one-on-one with those he grows to like. He’ll forever hate the necessity of being careful, though...

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure, but this might be the rarest pairing to this day. It didn't even have a tag. ^^
> 
> My beta asked me about the two couples who were mated but didn't have a mating bond. I have theories. This is a mixed group of Progs with both true Betas and Progs with their primal senses intact. Progs don't siphon, they don't stimulate glands, and they prefer to knot outside of the body. All those things relate to the primal senses so it's possible that they can't or won't form a bond that Dean would recognise as a mating bond. It's also possible that they are mated the same way Dick and Crowley are currently mated. Meaning, they love each other and want to spend their lives together but the form of love they feel for each other isn't romantic and therefore there's no mating bond to their scent. That's something we might have found out if Sam was the one at this dinner party instead of Dean. Sam wants to understand things on a scientifical level, while Dean here is content thinking 'Huh. That's weird.' and move on.


End file.
